Living Hell
by Nicola Silvera
Summary: CHAPTER 6 UP! It truly was like a living hell. People used that phrase without knowing what hell really felt like. It wasn’t just pain to make you regret your sin. It was fear and everlasting torment.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_**Rated for language, violence and mature subject matter.**_

This is my first Supernatural fic and I hope I do good. I know, when I write fanfics characters tend to get a little OOC so don't bug me about it. Also this takes place in between the episodes Provenance and Dead Man's Blood. I've also been having technical difficulties with fanfic...so please if you notice anything screwed up let me know. That's also why this story may appear as the Fire of Fear in my profile but its actually called Living Hell. Well anyway, please review and just to let you know flames are accepted as long as they contain CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Don't review just to let me know it sucks. If you don't like it tell me what's wrong and I'll do my best to fix it.

**Full Summary:** It truly was like a living hell. People used that phrase without knowing what hell really felt like. It wasn't just pain to make you regret your sin. It was fear and ever-lasting torment.When Sam lets fear take control, life becomes much like a living hell. The guilt that controls him, the fire that eats away at him is becoming more than he can handle. When a dark figure appears in his dreams he tries to run, but fear always catches up. What will he do when the Winchester boys take a job that affect Sam not only physically but emotionally as well. Who is the Tarren family and what do they have to do with a series of and death's in Vermont. What will Sam do when he is placed in head to head combat with his fears and risks not only his own life but his brother's and everyone else's as well.

..x0x..

Fear. Definition: frightening thought; an idea, thought, or other entity that causes feelings of fear. But to Winchesters fear was something else entirely. Fear to the Winchesters was rare but was defined but the ice that ate away at your insides, the nagging voice in your head telling you that everything will not be okay no matter how many times you say it will. Fear is thoughts in your head that will never leave you alone. You can run until your legs give out and collapse beneath you, until your lungs have breathed their last breath and your heart has pumped its last drop of blood, but fear will always be with you until you come face to face and even then, it may overcome you.

..x0x..

Scalding heat.

Never-ending darkness.

He stood alone, the blackness pressing in on him, the heat so hot he was beyond sweating and even though no burns appeared on his body he felt the pain of them, the searing, blistering pain that he cold not escape.

This was Sam's nightmare that haunted him day and night, no matter where he was. No matter what he was doing the guilt was always there. Sure, he could hide from it during the day, push it away until the pain became a dull ache deep within his heart. But at night there was no escape, no relief. The guilt of the events at the Roosevelt Asylum, the guilt of Jess's death and many other things were all his to relive at night in one painstaking nightmare. One that he could never escape. He stood in the blistering heat, the shadowy darkness until it all shattered into a familiar blinding white light.

And then he was standing in his old nursery, dancing flames engulfing everything in sight. Reluctantly he looked up to the ceiling, dreading the painful sight that he couldn't quite remember but knew was coming.

Tears welled up in his eyes when he saw his mother pinned to the ceiling, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes that to him held blame for everything that had happened to her, to them, to their family.

And then his mother became someone else and when he recognized the face a lump appeared in his throat and the tears that had been welling up finally fell, evaporated by the blazing inferno before they had gone halfway down his cheek, ending their short lives and becoming yet another thing he could not save.

It was Jess. Beautiful, defenceless Jess. The Jess that he had had the power to save, just not the intelligence to listen to his dreams and not the courage to act on them. The Jess he would have died for, _should_ have died for. His Jess. And he did not have to look into her eyes to feel the guilt inside him grow. The guilt that everyday threatened to eat away at his heart and soul. The guilt that now threatened to consume his being.

Then he was at home, holding his acceptance letter to Stanford, his father yelling at him telling him that college wasn't what mattered. Hunting was the only thing that mattered. Feeling a sudden rage possess him he yelled back, telling his father that he was going and nothing was going to stop him and then he stormed out the door, never looking back.

Now he was in Roosevelt Asylum, standing over his brother, a gun pointed at Dean's head. Dean was talking to him but he couldn't hear him. All he could hear was the voice in his head. Encouraging him, telling him to kill Dean. But he couldn't with the rock salt gun in his hand, it wouldn't kill Dean, and he told that to the voice in his head. Unexpectedly, Dean was offering him a gun, one loaded with metal bullets. He considered it for a moment before the voice within him became impatient and Sam reached out and took it in his hand.

The voice told him that Dean deserved it and Sam felt anger at his brother. He felt the anger that he had always had control over and knew it was no longer his to control, it now belonged to the voice in his head. His finger tightened on the trigger and the voice laughed and said one last thing '_Pull it Sam,_' and then it was gone. But it didn't matter that he was no longer being encouraged, his anger had finally been unleashed and he pulled the trigger and the gun fired.

Finally, he was back in the motel room, but he still held the gun in his hand, an indicator that the dream had not yet ended. He had been having this dream for days and it always ended when he shot Dean. This part was new and he felt another feeling mingling with the guilt he harboured deep inside him. It was fear.

A figure stood before him, so wrapped in darkness that he could make out no features. The intense heat seemed to be radiating from it and as it took a step closer the heat increased.

_Sam…_

The voice was that of a woman, sad and lonely but filled with an emotion he couldn't put his finger on in his disoriented state, in his dream state. The figure, the woman, came closer until it was about 2 feet away. He could feel the heat on his skin, burning at his clothes and, despite his better judgment, his human survival instincts kicked in and he dropped the gun and threw up his hands to protect his face. But the figure reached out with its shapeless black hands--at least he thought they were its hands--and took his arms and pushed them out of the way. Sam screamed in pain as he felt the flesh on his arms burn and the intense agony of it all took over him and screamed not only in pain but in fury, in sadness, in fear.

He fell to his knees, the darkness of the spirit still clinging on to his arms. Then the darkness started to shrink and he felt it seep into him, burning not only his flesh but his heart, his mind, his spirit. The sensation took hold of him and as hard as he tried to fight it, it would not let him go.

Eventually the strain of it all became to much and just as the strange dark entity disappeared and filled him completely, his vision wavered and vanished, and he fell to the floor. Just before the dream vanished he saws the face of the figure. But it faded along with the dream, its features lost in the swirling waves that was his dream memory. The memory in which all but the unimportant is lost, never to be found again until the time came when the truth discovered itself.

x0x

Sam awoke with a start, his dream shattering as he shot bolt upright in a cold sweat and a feeling of panic that was trying to crawl its way outside of him.

Eventually the panic diminished as the events of the dream faded almost completely from memory and reality came hurtling back at him with full force. But even as reality settled in, there was one thing that didn't leave him.

The heat.

The heat from the fire that lately had been present in all of his dreams. The heat that had always been there to remind him of all the things that he regretted, all the things he had done in his life that had hurt someone he loved. And that's when he remembered the figure.

He shuddered when he remembered its voice, filled with a longing as it called to him. And its touch. Opposite from any ghosts, whose touch was always cold, it had been filled with a strange kind of heat that made him suddenly feel dirty, tainted in a way, like when the darkness had seeped into him some of it had been left behind and stained him with a substance that was impossible to get out.

He became aware of the pain that now encircled his arms. He felt the fear inside him rise to terror when he realized that the marks from his dream could be left in the real world, like a visible stain not unlike the darkness that hid within him.

If the marks were here then this meant a very large problem for him. If the burns had appeared then that meant the this thing was more that a nightmare, more than a premonition. It was an apparition. It was an apparition that was completely focused upon him with a kind of attention that he did not want from something that could steal into his dreams. The attention of lust.

He had heard it in its--_her_, it was a her--voice, felt in in her touch. This girl, whether it was a spirit, a demon, a human with extraordinary powers, wanted him and he knew that if that was the case as he suspected it to be then this would not be the last nightmare of this sort.

Slowly, he got out of his bed, eyeing his brother's sleeping form warily for he knew Dean was a light sleeper, and stumbled towards the bathroom, blinking as light flooded the tiny room.

He made his way to the mirror and frowned when he saw what looked back at him. His face was touched with red, burnt from the heat in his dream, and he looked down at his wrists he saw bad burns encircling his wrists like snakes, spiralling all the way up his shoulders.

Sighing in frustration he crept back out into the main room and quickly grabbed the first aid kit. Returning to the bathroom he applied an ointment to his burns to relieve the pain.

_Sam…_

It was a faint whisper in his ear, a gentle caress in his mind but he heard it and he felt it. The presence of the woman encircled him and he felt another hint of fear, not of the woman herself but of the fact that he was defenceless against this thing that he knew could hurt him. He had felt what it could do, could see the burns on his arms and it scared him.

But as soon as it came it was gone. His awareness of the presence vanished but not before he heard it. Something that transformed his fear into sheer terror.

It was a heartbeat.

This woman was no spirit, no demon. It was a human. A human who somehow had the power to appear in his dreams, to hurt him without physically touching him. He instantly suspected Meg but it was an illogical thought since Meg did not long for him like this woman did.

He stood up and turned off the light of the bathroom, momentarily blinding him until his eyes could adjust to the dark. Groping around for his bag, he returned the first aid kit and crept back into bed.

It took him a while to fall back asleep with all the thoughts that were whirling around in his head but exhaustion finally won and sleep took over him. But it was not a restful sleep, but a sleep filled with nightmares about the woman. And most of all it was filled with something that would not leave him alone and would haunt his sleep for days to come.

It was the beating of a human heart.

x0x

"Sammy are you feeling alright?"

"It's Sam." he replied absently, looking out the window of his brother's black Impala. It was four days after Sam's first nightmare and the heart was not only haunting him at night but during the day also. It made sleep impossible and even when he managed what little sleep would come to him it was not truly sleep. It was just another visitation from the woman, more burns, and the blackness tainting him more and more until it was almost unbearable for Sam. He could no longer concentrate on the hunt, could not concentrate on anything but the heart beating within his head and the darkness that was starting to consume him.

"You didn't answer my question." said Dean, glancing sideways at his brother, "Are you okay Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam answered in a tired voice.

"_Fine except for the fact I haven't slept in four nights and this damn heart won't leave me alone."_ The thought rang in his head, like lyrics that followed the rhythm of the heartbeat.

Sam had chosen not to tell Dean because truthfully, Dean would probably blow it way out of proportion. Sam just saw it as a nightmare, another premonition for him to add to his collection, just another demon. Dean would see it as their next job. That or he would think Sam was going insane, a thought which Sam didn't think was too far from the truth.

"Are you sure? You look like you haven't slept in a week. Are you having those dreams again?"

Sam grew irritated. He knew his brother was just trying to be helpful but honestly he was just aggravating Sam further.

"I'm _fine_ Dean. I'm just not feeling to good. Let's just find somewhere to sleep for the night."

Sam saw his brother glance at him warily and he knew it wasn't like himself to sound so annoyed. But the heartbeat and the lack of sleep were getting to him and he knew it wouldn't be long until he cracked. It was just a matter of time.

..x0x..

It was now 2 weeks after the first visitation of the women and Sam felt his sanity slowly deteriorating. The sound of the heart had completely taken over every part of his brain and the blackness from the woman was consuming him. He knew Dean had realized that something was wrong but whenever he tried to question Sam about it Sam always evaded the questions or would just ignore them completely.

So that night, he awoke with a start and as he made his way to the washroom to treat the burns that appeared every night, he did not realize that Dean was awake. He did not know that Dean had resolved to stay up this night to see if he could find out what his little brother was not telling him.

Sam quickly grabbed the first aid kit and treated his burns in the bathroom. He examined his arms and saw the burns that appeared every night in the same place, doubling the pain every day.

_Sam…_

He whipped around at the sound of the voice, the presence once again encircling him, the beating of the heart growing from a dull pounding to a deafening roar.

_Sam. I need you._

"Wha-what do you want?" he managed to stutter. This was the first time she had spoken to him directly.

_Can't you remember…_

"Remember what?" he asked, barely able to collect his thoughts as the heart pounded inside his head. Sam did not hear Dean get up to stand beside the door and listen.

The woman did not answer but the presence that was around him constricted and he sank to the floor, unable to breathe, unable to scream in pain, or in terror. Just as the edges of his vision began to dim he was released and he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

_You must remember!_

The woman was angry now, he could feel it. Two serpents appeared on the floor in front of him, along with a group of venomous spiders. He shrank back against the wall as the serpents and spiders advanced towards him.

He sat there, frozen in terror as the snakes slithered up his legs, wrapping their long bodies around him. He struggled against them but it only made them tighter and as the spiders began to climb up onto his body, his struggled only encouraged them to bite and he screamed as he felt the poison sink into him.

Suddenly Dean was in front of him, staring at him in concern. Sam frantically wondered why he was not trying to pull the spiders off of him, to free him from the confines of the snakes.

"Help me Dean! Please help!" his panicked screams only encouraged the spiders and they bit harder, deeper.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean asked in concern, kneeling down in front of Sam and reaching out to him but afraid to touch him while he was writhing around on the floor.

But Sam couldn't hear Dean, he could only hear the heart that pounded in his head. A dark figure appeared behind Dean and Sam recognized it as the woman that was always after him. As she lunged for Sam, Sam shouted "Dean, look out!"

But the woman leapt right through Dean and plunged herself deep within Sam's chest. The heartbeat grew louder for a moment and its pace nearly doubled. And then Sam felt it. It was not the familiar burning that he was used to but a different sensation entirely. It was like his heart was being ripped from his chest, his soul torn into a millions pieces. He felt the spirit inside him, her fury flowing in his veins until it was spread throughout his entire body, like a poison that was never going to let him go.

He screamed in agony and struggled even harder against the snakes that bound him tight. He barely registered Dean kneeling in front of him, a look of horror upon his face. He struggled and screamed but nothing worked. It would not let him go, not now, not ever.

Eventually he became tired, his throat raw from the endless screaming. His struggles grew weaker as the pain became more distant, the heartbeat slowing to a crawl. He felt like he had been plunged into a deep pool of water.

At first he was floating, the pain encompassing his entire being, the sound of himself screaming hurting his ears, the look of fear on Dean's face. But as he sank deeper his ears were filled with water and the only sound was the ever-slowing heartbeat. And then his face sank below the surface and Dean's face blurred and Sam's breathing stopped, cut off from his source. And as he sank to the bottom of this dark pool of water he felt the pain become even more distant, like he had left it all of the surface. His vision dimmed.

_You will remember…_

He heard the whisper but it didn't matter. He knew he was dying but in all his near death experiences he never thought he would die like this, a prisoner to his guilt and his nightmares. He felt his heartbeat slow to a stop and in his last moments of consciousness he realized something that he should have realized long ago.

It had been his heartbeat all along.

..x0x..

**A/N: **Okay yes, its short but hey my teachers have all caught some bug that makes them all hand out projects at once. I'm aiming for an update every two weeks but it all depends on response. If people don't like it then it'll be longer be cause I'll be more careful when revising. If they like it then I think I'll try to get more out. Please Review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N:** Sorry I'm late! But I had 2 major tests this week and a field trip to Toronto where we walked around in circles for 5 hours. So between studying and nursing my sore legs I missed the two week mark. I don't have much to say except to let you know that this chapter is less intense than the first one in my opinion and its mostly Dean's feelings about poor little Sammy's condition. Also I was thinking about it last night and I realized that Vermont is a really random place for this story. But whatever, I'm not from the U.S. and I really couldn't think of a better place. So if you're from Vermont and something is really screwed up I'm sorry. Also I'm sorry its short. It is actually considerably shorter than last chapter. Also I realize that this story is going slow but bear with me. And just for reference, the parts in italics are flashbacks and the three dots just separate the flashbacks. Please Review!

**Disclaimer:** Oops, forgot this last chapter. No, I do not own Supernatural…but I do own the poster of Jared Padalecki that's on my wall.

..x0x..

The sky was clouded over letting only sparse rays of sunlight trickle through. _It would have been a perfect day for driving,_ Dean thought, _no rain and no glare from the sun. A perfect day for driving._

But Dean was not in his car. He was not blasting his Metallica music and he was not looking for their next job. No, instead he was standing by Sam's bedside in his shitty motel room, watching over his brother's unconscious form. He did not know how long he had been standing there. All he could remember was Sam screaming, Sam suffering, Sam dying.

No, Sam had not died, but Dean shuddered to think how close to the brink Sam had come. His breathing had stopped for a moment and in that instant Dean felt like he had lost everything. He barely remembered reaching for the phone and dialling 911.

"911 emergency." The woman's voice had sounded so calm and Dean opened his mouth to ask for an ambulance when Sam had sucked in a shuddering, rasping breath. And then another. And then another. His conscience told him that he should still call an ambulance but he was not one to make any unnecessary hospital trips.

"Hello?" The woman was wondering what was going on, he could tell.

"Sorry, wrong number." He had managed to whisper, and then he had hung up the phone.

He quickly picked up Sam and placed him on the bed, grunting under the strain of carrying his brothers weight. Sam had been unconscious ever since, his breathing becoming more steady, though he occasionally coughed. Sam also had a high fever.

He wondered how he hadn't seen this coming. Something had been wrong with Sam for weeks. He had grown more distant and hardly sleeping judging from the dark circles under his eyes. He cursed himself for not trying harder to see what was wrong. He may have at least had some clue to what had happened. For he had a strong feeling that this was not exhaustion. He had seen in on Sam's face. Sam had seen something that Dean had not been able to see, it was just up to Dean to figure out what. That or Sam was suffering from a mixture of exhaustion and the flu, which would explain the fever and the fact that his brother was now unconscious, his breathing laboured.

Eventually he became lost in thought, the last few weeks replaying over in his head.

..x0x..

_The room was dark and dusty, with no light coming through the boarded up windows. It was a simple haunting, a man who had murdered his family and then killed himself. No big deal._

_But Sammy was slow tonight, not as alert as he should be. No matter how small, any mistake could be deadly. Dean knew that, he just hoped Sam did._

…

_It was running right for Sam, its claws outstretched. Dean saw it as though it was in slow motion. He saw the snarl on the monsters face, the look of surprise on his brother's. He didn't think about it, didn't even realize what had happened until it was over._

_It had been on Sam, and then he had tackled it. He could feel its claws tear at his flesh, but he kept it distracted, giving his brother time to reload his gun. But Sam took longer than usual, and Dean was on the ground, almost unconscious before he heard the gunshot. The monster fell on top of him, nearly strangling him, before Sam came and pulled it off._

_"Took you long enough." he told his brother as Sammy helped him to his feet._

…

_Sam was sitting beside him in the car, his eyes closed for some long-needed rest. Dean looked over at his brothers sleeping form and saw that it was a restless sleep. Sam was frowning, his forehead beaded with tiny drops of perspiration._

_"_More nightmares_," Dean thought to himself. He sighed. He had thought that the nightmares had finally left Sam. Apparently he had been wrong._

_Watching his brother, Dean saw Sam settle down a little and felt relieved that Sam was finally getting restful sleep. But then Sam jerked awake, making Dean jump._

_Sam looked panicked until the sound of Dean's music reached his ears, and he saw Dean beside him. The he settled back down into the seat, his eyes blankly looking out the window as the car drove on._

…

_Dean was awake. He should be asleep at this ungodly hour of the morning, but he was not. The sound of his brothers unintelligible muttering in his sleep and the creaking of the bed as he tossed and turned kept him awake._

_He saw Sam stop moving and he had almost fallen asleep when he heard Sam stand up. He heard Sam rifling through his bag and through his eyelids he could see the bathroom light go on. It didn't click in until the next morning, when Dean was looking for a clean shirt and he saw the first aid kit on top of his bag that Sam had used the first aid kit. And that night Sam fell unconscious to the bathroom floor._

..x0x..

Sam was trapped, where he didn't know and why was a mystery. How was a little more clear. He remembered a deep, heart-wrenching pain fill his entire body, he remembered the woman's sadness filling him until he could no longer stand it. And he remembered the feeling of sinking deep into a bottomless pool of water.

So he was still stuck with the questions of where and why.

It was dark where he was, darker than any evil he had ever fought. But maybe he was just blind. It was silent as any rundown house that he had ever broken into in the dead of night. Not even the heartbeat disturbed his thoughts now, he thought with a sigh of relief. But maybe he was just deaf. It was colder than the touch of any ghost, breathing was like trying to move a thousand pound boulder, possible but not easy. But maybe…maybe he was just dead.

Now that was a thought, a grim one, but a thought nonetheless. That would explain the darkness, the silence, and the coldness.

But where was the light? Wasn't he supposed to some kind of light that he could walk into? If there was no light then didn't that make him a ghost? For a second his breath caught in his throat at the thought of becoming what he had strove to kill his entire life. His heartbeat increased as he panicked.

And that's when he realized he couldn't possibly be dead.

If it was possible for his breath to get caught in his throat, and for his heart to beat faster--thankfully in his chest, not drumming against his skull--then he couldn't be dead.

Great, now he was back to where and why.

He tried to remember back to before he felt like he was drowning and found it very hard. His thoughts were all swirling around in his head in no semblance of order of any kind and he found it hard to remember anything.

Abruptly, his dark, cold and silent world exploded and he was thrown into a world of light, sound, heat and pain. This happened so suddenly that he did not notice the dark figure standing behind him.

..x0x..

He was standing over Sam, lost deep in thought when Sam stirred. Pulled out of his trance Dean leaned closer just in time to see Sam's eyes flutter open. Tense, Dean waited for words, for recognition, for anything that meant Sam was still there.

"Dean?" Though his voice was hoarse it was definitely Sam and Dean felt a wave of relief. Suddenly weak, he sat down on his own bed, his eyes never leaving his brother.

"I thought I had lost you there Sammy." He tried to keep his voice light but it was hard.

"It's Sam." his brother reminded him. Looking over at Dean, he looked puzzled. "Dean, what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Dean muttered under his breath. Standing up, Dean moved closer to his brother. "Sam, can't you remember anything?"

Sam frowned, his eyes still looking tired. "No," his voice was still hoarse.

"Well, Sammy. This better be a one time thing because next time, I'm leaving you on the bathroom floor." This joke, meant solely for the purpose of helping Dean forget how close to death Sam had come, fell on deaf ears, because Sam was no longer listening.

For a second Dean thought Sam had passed out again but after a moment he asked,

"How long was I out?"

"About twelve hours." Those twelve hours had felt like twelve years to Dean. Sam nodded, and Dean begin to feel a hint of worry. Something didn't seem right here.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's dad?"

Dean practically heard the alarm bells go off in his head. What was wrong with Sam?

"Sam, are you alright?" it was had not to let his worry lace his voice.

"No, I need to talk to dad. Go get him."

First exhaustion, the unconsciousness, the fever and now delusions? Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong. Maybe it was time for one of those hated hospital trips. He could ignore random bouts of unconsciouness but his little brother losing touch with reality he couldn't ignore.

"Get up Sam."

"Why?"

"We're going to the doctors." Dean grabbed his coat and ran around searching for his keys.

"No!" Sam's pleaded, "Please don't take me there. She'll be there."

"Sam, who will be there?"

But Sam never answered. Neither would he get up until Dean agreed to take him to their father. Dean passed Sam his coat and when he accidentally touched Sam's hand he felt the heat there and he felt the fear eating away at his stomach. Something was wrong with Sam and it was up to Dean to find out what.

..x0x..

**A/N:** Alright I'm sorry I made you wait so long for such a mediocre chapter but I didn't have time to proofread it as meticulously as I did the last chapter. Sorry! I promise the next chapter will be better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**A/N:** Alright, here's chapter three. A big thanks to my new beta, leanneB. It's only been one chapter I already have no idea how I did this without you. Hehe, I'm updating today because the date is 6/6/06 and I thought it was appropriate for a Supernatural story. Is it just me or are these chapters getting shorter as I go along? Anyways, don't have much to say about it except please R&R.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I do not own anything Supernatural.

..x0x..

"Well his throat looks a little red, his tonsils are slightly swollen and his fever is at 104.8 but other than that I don't think we have a very serious problem." Dean and Sam had waited for two hours in the walk-in clinic to see a doctor and Dean had to admit he was somewhat relieved that it was nothing but a sore throat and a fever.

The delusions, the doctor had assured him, were just side effects of the fever. "Here is a prescription for some antibiotics, you can pick them up a the pharmacy across the road."

Dean thanked the man as he took the small piece of paper handed to him. The doctor was about to leave when Dean stopped him,

"Hey, um…Sammy…Sam has been having a little bit of trouble sleeping lately and I was just wondering if you could maybe--"

"Prescribe him something?" The doctor asked, a small smile.

Dean nodded, although he had no idea what the doctor was smiling for.

"Of course I can." The doctor took out his pen and added something to the piece paper that Dean held.

Dean thanked him and turned around to walk back into the room where Sam sat. Sam still thought that Dean was taking them to their Dad. Dean humoured him, knowing that trying to tell him that he was delusional would only put him in a further state of distress. He was already jumpy and shaky, although whether it was distress or illness was a mystery to Dean.

He walked into the small room and saw Sam sitting in the chair in the corner. Dean thought back to the dusty motel room, when he had promised he would take Sam to see Dad, he had seen a look of complete trust in Sam's eyes, one he hadn't seen since Jess. Sam's eyes had been so clear, not clouded by guilt or anger or the want, the need for revenge. He had seemed almost like the boy he had once been, the man he would have become.

But Sam was no longer that boy, and he would never become that man. They were lost somewhere deep in Sam, destroyed by the death Sam had seen, the things he had done. Sammy was no longer Sammy, no matter how much Dean wished it. He was no longer Sammy, a boy who had suffered, who had bled, who had cried and screamed and feared all for another man's cause. For their father's cause. He was Sam, a man who suffered and bled and cried and screamed and feared for his own cause. For his Jess, and for his now unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Dean almost couldn't believe, as he walked into that tiny clinic room, that the man sitting before him was Sam. He looked so pale and so vulnerable that Dean could almost see the boy sitting there. But Dean knew better than that. That boy was dead, burning in the fires that had stolen their Mom and Jess. And he was never coming back.

"C'mon Sammy." Dean walked up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, making him jump.

"Are we going to see Dad?"

"Uh yeah," Dean answered, not meeting Sam's eye, not wanting to see the trust there. The trust that was not Sam, just Sam's delusion. "He's waiting back at the motel. We just have to make a short stop first."

..x0x..

Dean watched as Sam swallowed the pills he gave him. It had taken telling him two dozen times to do so and promising one dozen times that their Dad would come as soon as Sam took them to even get Sam to consider it. But he finally convinced his brother to take the pills and watched him swallow them quickly.

Then he looked up at Dean expectantly, waiting for Dean to carry through with his end of the bargain.

"Good Sam," He felt like he was talking to a dog. One that was putting way more trust into his master than it should. "Why don't you lie down? I'll go get Dad."

"Yeah, just hurry." Sam obediently lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

This action worried Dean more than it should. Ever since Jess, he didn't think Sam had ever looked at the ceiling. He was probably afraid of what he would see up there. A nightmare from the past.

Dean sighed as he walked out the door and shut it quietly behind him. This would all be over soon. The antibiotics would bring down Sam's fever and the sleeping pills would help him get some long-needed rest. Hopefully the delusions would be gone when Sam awoke. And then things would go back to normal.

Well, as normal as their life could be.

..x0x..

Sam lay there, staring at the ceiling while, unbeknownst to him, the drugs which Dean had given to him took effect. He did not notice as he got tired and he did not feel the heat start to leave his body. His mind did not even know that it had mistakenly crossed the border between awake and asleep. He was so focused on his need to tell his father, his need to stop what was about to become truth that he did not even try to fight as the blackness consumed him.

..x0x..

His head was clear, clearer than it had been in weeks. He sat on a park bench his eyes closed, listening to the songbirds whose music fascinated him. Where did they think of the melodies? What did the notes mean to the birds? Were they songs of happiness and sunlight and the joy of making a nest or catching a worm? Or were they songs of destruction and violence and dark secrets?

To him they were the normalcy he'd always longed for. They were one of the only things that were consistent in his ever-changing life. He hoped that they were songs of happiness and sunlight because a life didn't always have to revolve around violence and secrets like his did. Something had to have the innocence that he had never felt.

"Sam."

He felt the presence beside him and opened his eyes only to be blinded by rays of sunlight. Shading his eyes with his hand he saw that it was Jess who sat before him.

He knew deep in his heart that this wasn't right. But everything about her seemed so perfectly real. Her wonderful golden locks, her beautiful, clear eyes, her voice, her smell. It felt so right to have her sit beside him once more that he didn't care if it was a dream, a fantasy that his mind used to tease him with, just so when he woke once more into his world of violence he would feel the pain of losing her all over again. The heart wrenching pain that burnt so much that every time he looked into the mirror he was surprised not to see flames consuming him, representing the pain he always felt.

"Hi Sam."

Her smile was so beautiful that he could not hold back any longer. Her kissed her. It was not just any kiss. It was a kiss of passion, a kiss of desire, a kiss of second chances. Her felt her body press against his, could smell her hair and when they pulled away breathless, she looked up into his eyes and when he saw the same passion inside of her he prayed to be lost in this fantasy forever. He prayed for her to always be looking up into his eyes with the passion he saw now.

But Sam should have known by now that prayers were rarely answered.

She stood, her expression sad, and turned away from him, walking to a place he would never reach. Where angels with white wings and untainted innocence danced A dance of glory, of courage, and of purity that he would never have the chance to obtain.

He tried to stand and follow here to dance that dance right along side her, with her step leading his, but his legs would not obey. God would not accept him and the devil would never let him go. He was trapped in a world of fallen angels. One where white wings had turned black from such a lengthy fall. It was a world filled with ones who did not know the meaning of glory, or of courage or least of all purity. These fallen angels danced the dance of death, the dance of fear, the dance of fire. The dance then he and Dean were forever trying to stop.

Maybe Dean thought that trying to end it would allow their wings to become white, but Sam knew better. The things they had done, the things they had seen ere unforgivable in the eyes of heaven. But maybe it would bring them some scrap of salvation. Maybe, even though God was unwilling to accept them, the devil would let them go, and when they died they would not gain wings like everyone else.

Maybe they would simply cease to exist, sent to a place where there was no dance, no love, no hate. To a place that didn't exist. To a place where they wouldn't exist either.

He watched as Jess's back disappeared along with the park bench and the mysterious birdsong. Instead there was silence and as he turned around he saw someone he thought he would never, ever see.

It was his mother, her shiny blonde hair and pretty face. Her eyes were like Dean's. Unlike Jess she already had her wings. White ones.

She smiled and reached out to touch his cheek with gentle fingers. He placed his hand on hers, feeling its warmth. He did not look away though, he did not even blink, afraid that she would disappear.

"It's not your fault," she whispered softly.

"What's not my fault?" he asked.

She looked at him sadly and pulled her hand away from his cheek only to pull him into a hug. For a moment he was stunned, but then he wrapped his arms around her. This may only be a dream but it felt so real.

"I'm sorry Sam. It's not your fault."

He pulled back, looking into her eyes. "What?"

"Silence is here."

Before he could reply, she vanished, leaving him standing alone in the dark. He stood there for a moment, unable to do anything but then the fires erupted around him and he screamed.

They burned at his flesh, eating away at him. He fell to the ground screaming as the black figure laughing mercilessly from behind him.

..x0x..

Dean walked into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He was relieved to see Sam sleeping in his bed.

Walking over he laid his hand on Sam's forehead and was surprised to feel the intense heat there. He glanced at his watch. _It's barely been twenty minutes,_ he thought to himself. _The antibiotics will kick in soon._

Reassured, he threw his jacket in the corner and lay down on his own bed, confident that everything would be better by morning.

..x0x..

**A/N: **Alright, that's it for now. Hope you liked it. I know that these for chapters of prep might have gotten a little boring but I promise the story is starting to get more developed. Anyways, please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**A/N:** Ok, chapter four is finally here. Be very thankful for that because it almost didn't make it. You can thank my marvellous beta leanneB for that. Without her this would have been one very nonexistent chapter. I actually had this story ready on Tuesday but fanfiction was being mean to me again.s Hope you like it and please review.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, they're not mine. But you can't blame me for dreaming can you?

..x0x..

Dean was floating through blackness, glimpses of images flashing around the edges of his vision, always just beyond sight. He had been drifting for so long in the dark but this didn't worry him. He wasn't scared of the dark, hadn't been since the day his mother died. Actually, he stopped being a lot of things the day his mother died, but attentive was not one of them. Something was here, he could sense it. It was taking him somewhere but that was fine by him, for it was a friendly presence, a familiar one.

So he continued to float peacefully through the darkness, idly wondering what would take him on such a trip and why. While he couldn't feel it, he knew the blackness was vast and cold and he knew the images he glimpsed were not images of happy times. In fact, now he thought about it, the images were all of fire, smoke, anger and pain. Images of betrayal and unforgivable sin. Images of a figure huddled on the ground while another laughed from above. Dark, merciless laughs.

But the images were fleeting and the darkness complete, and almost as soon as he realized that he had seen people in the flames he had forgotten them…his thoughts instead drifting across the vast blackness before he gradually began to fade away. The last thing to fade from his senses and the first part of the dream to dissipate into nothingness was the laughter. It was so dark, and so cold it sent shivers down his spine and raised goose bumps on his flesh.

..x0x..

Dean woke slowly, gently pulled from his sleep. He had been dreaming of heat and fire, but his memories of the dream were murky at best and even now as he tried to recall what he had seen, he could feel the dream slipping further and further away, disappearing like water through his fingers, fading with every drop.

A small cough from the bed next to his drew him quickly from his thoughts of fire and back to the cheap musty hotel room that was their current home. Snapping his head around to check on Sam, Dean was somewhat surprised to see Sam still asleep, curled up in a ball with his back to him, head almost completely buried under his covers.

This was strange because if Sam wasn't already awake before Dean, he usually slept unconsciously facing Dean, almost as if seeking him out, even in sleep. He also usually slept legs and arms akimbo making his tall, lanky frame appear more like an octopus wrestling with the bed rather then curled tight like he was now, making him seem impossibly small, like he was trying to hide from something.

Rising quickly he noticed the small red numbers of the clock read 6:30a.m. and he groaned in protest when he realized that he had cheated himself of further sleep. _Damn, Sam__'s sleeping habits are starting to rub off on me! 6:30 in the morning? That's just not right…_

"Well, at least _he__'s_ finally getting some rest." Dean mused as he made his way to the bathroom, briefly stopping to snag some clean, well…clean_ish_ clothes from his bag, and sighed as he realized he would be the one stuck doing the laundry today. He hadn't even gone near a laundry machine since his last attempt. Even the smell of laundry detergent brought unpleasant images of suds everywhere, Sam's disapproving stare, one very angry Laundromat owner and wasting a ridiculous amount of money on a new washing machine. It's not as if he _meant_ to blow up the washing machine. It sort of just happened. With one final look at Sam's peacefully still form, he smiled slightly and closed the bathroom door to begin his morning rituals of showering and shaving.

..x0x..

Sam curled up further into himself, praying the agonizing torment would stop. Maybe if he was small enough, still enough, quiet enough, whatever presence it was that haunted him might forget he was here and allow him to escape these fires of hell.

He was allowed small moments of reprieve. Ones where he gathered up enough courage to escape the fires and enter a world of his own creation.

These moments were like the fire didn't even exist.

Sometimes Jess was there, and he was swallowed up by feelings of longing and love that were so strong they overwhelmed him, making the pain he felt after she left just that much stronger.

Sometimes he was at college, studying. But it wasn't really studying. He only managed to write one thing that was repeated over and over on his paper. "_Silence is here." _He didn't know what it meant but when he was done he had impossible amounts of paper filled with the phrase that meant nothing and yet meant everything all at once.

Sometimes his mother sat beside him, embracing him and telling him that it wasn't him who had done it and he should not give in. He was never sure exactly what she meant but he hugged her back anyway, grateful for the chance to know her alive and not as memories that nobody wanted to recall.

Sometimes he was alone, floating in a pool of calm water. Feeling the breeze across his face. The breeze whispered gently in his ear…_silence is here…_ And then the water began to boil and he was back in hell, left with all his grief and anger and guilt.

These moments did not last long, although thankfully they felt like a lifetime while he was in them. Afterwards though, they were barely a second of relief. You'd be surprised how much you dream in a second, it could be one image, never-ending. Or it was thousands of different images, neither meaningless nor meaningful unless you took them to be.

At that moment he didn't really take the phrase, "silence is here" as meaningful. It was scarcely a second long, not even an image, but a fragment of one. A tiny sliver embedded in his mind, not painful, but if allowed it will grow infected and then it won't be a fragment. It will take on a life of its own. That tiny sliver with turn from harmless to extremely painful.

Exactly like the flames that consumed him.

It truly was like a living hell. People used that phrase without knowing what hell really felt like. It wasn't just pain to make you regret your sin. It was fear and ever-lasting torment. If he didn't know better he would think he was dead. Forever being punished for the crimes he had committed. He could accept that. He had done some pretty shitty things in his life.

But he knew better.

That knowledge made everything just that much worse. His life was chaos, unstable and inconsistent. Haunted with spirits, poltergeists, demons, creatures that hid in your closet or underneath your bed. If he couldn't have peace even in his dreams, if he couldn't escape these monsters in the shelter of sleep then where was he safe?

The answer made him shudder despite the heat.

Nowhere.

The flames continued to consume, and all he felt was pain more intense than anything her had ever experienced in his life. More intense than the anger that he held inside him. More intense than the guilt he had for not telling Jess his past, not warning her about the future. More intense even than his grief at losing his beautiful Jess.

The fire was scorching more than just his body; it was burning his soul and slowly filling him with the blackness of despair. He screamed at the smoke for mercy, but the figure in black just continued to laugh her cold, dark laugh.

_Silence is here._

..x0x..

Feeling much more awake and refreshed, Dean emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of steam billowing around him. He smiled slightly as he saw Sam still curled up asleep. Moving to the small table in the room, he popped out another two antibiotics for Sam before making his way over to his brother's bed.

Sitting on the side of the bed, he gently shook Sam's shoulder to wake him. But Sam did not even stir. He shook him again…no luck.

"Hey Sammy, come on now, time to take your meds." Dean shook him again.

"Sam, wake up" Dean felt a knot forming in his stomach. It was not so much that Sam had not woken right away like he normally would, being a light sleeper. Dean assured himself that was just the sleeping tablets still doing their job in Sam's exhausted body, but the total lack of movement worried Dean more than he would have liked to admit.

"Sam!" he called more forcefully now, using a voice he learnt from his father. A voice that commanded immediate attention and obedience.

Even that didn't work and the worry gnawed at Dean's stomach. He moved his hand to brush Sam's hair free of his face. And that was all it took, the slightest of touch to Sam's skin and Dean's world began to spiral out of control. His breath quickened and his heart jumped in his chest as he reached out again with a shaky hand, praying he had imagined it…but there it was, heat, worse than before. A heat so hot his brother must surely be melting. If not outside then inside, where his mind was. Where his heart was.

..x0x..

It was all a blur. The ice he'd packed around his brother, wrapped in pillowcases, sheets and whatever else was handy in the room. The twenty-minute wait for the ambulance, which then had seemed like a lifetime and then some, but now, as he looked back on it, the time seemed like it had flown past in a single heartbeat.

The ride to the hospital he couldn't even remember, apart from the fact that he's been holding tightly to his brother's hand, the heat radiating from it panicking him, making the fear grow inside him, flowing like a strange kind of adrenaline through his veins.

But then again, he only remembered that because he'd eventually been dragged away from Sam in the emergency room by no less than four orderlies--and he hadn't even been putting up a fight--he'd just been holding his brothers hand, lost in his own despair at his inability to help the almost lifeless form of his brother.

Apparently, the staff had been trying to get his attention for nearly five minutes. Five minutes when they could have been helping Sam. Should have been helping Sam.

But there he had stood, numbly holding his brothers hand like some grief-stricken relative who didn't know the things he knew, hadn't seen the things he'd seen.

He was Dean Winchester god damn it! Big bad demon hunter, first aid wiz, fighter and protector. And still he could not get his body to move, his brain had shut down, and in the blur he knew he'd failed his brother more completely than ever before.

He should have known it would all go wrong. He should have checked on him during the night instead of believing what the doctor said. He should have remembered his training and cooled his brother down straight away instead of waiting until he had been told to do so by the 911 operator. He should of…he should have been a better brother.

..x0x..

**A/N:** I hope you liked. Personally I really liked that chapter. It turned out very well. Pease review!

**B/N: **So, not really traditional for a beta to add a note but hey… I just wanted to thank everyone who is sticking with the story! I too really like how this chapter turned out – PLEASE review and let us know what you think! J


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_For Raymond, it feels empty without you beside me._

**A/N: **Yay! An update…finally. Yeah, I know I've been away for a while and I'm really sorry and it couldn't be helped, as much as I would have liked it to be. Huge thanks to my beta leanneB. She is my hero and without her you guys would probably come and kill me for my horrific job at writing and terrible grammar. Anyway, here's Chapter 5, sorry it's short but I hope you like it. Please Review!

**Disclaimer:** No…I haven't forgotten this. SO…Me Supernatural no own. I'll leave you to decipher that.

..x0x..

The hospital waiting room was dull and generic. It must have been a perfect square. A perfectly white square. White floors, white walls, a white tiled ceiling and floor stuffed with a ridiculous amount of chairs, which were of course white… well almost white, maybe they were more a cream but seriously, there was too much fucking white in this place. It made his head hurt.

Dean idly wondered how many gallons of bleach they used a day to maintain the clean appearance. He tried counting the ceiling tiles and he managed to reach 164 before he lost count…and interest. Maybe he could… god, there really was nothing to do but sit. And wait. And wait some more. And honestly, what was with the white!

Dean had this theory that they purposely made the waiting rooms particularly uninteresting to prolong your pain. All your worry and despair just bounced off the white walls and right back into you, magnified by the sheer whiteness of it all, just like sunshine off a mirror – only sunshine would suggest he was somewhere at least remotely inhabitable. This place was filled with nothing but worry and despair.

It didn't matter where you sat, it would still look the same, monotonous and…and… What was the word for something that caused you to lose interest, to stop believing that something is worthwhile? Disenchanting. Yes, that was probably the best word for it. Disenchanting. Dean had tried a different seat every time he returned with more coffee, hoping for some spark of distraction…something to help him escape his mind, because seriously, there was. Too. Much. White.

But no matter where he moved he was still stuck in a room that sucked the hope right out of you. Maybe it was cursed…

Where the hell was he anyway, it seemed like so long ago that he had pulled into the town for what was only supposed to be a one night stopover on the way to their next job. He lazily searched the white for a clue of where he was, finally noticing engraving on a chair nearby. Property of White River Junction Memorial. White River Junction? Huh, so he was in Vermont. Hadn't they been here before back when they were kids? Deans eyes slowly scanner the white room again as he let out a long and restless sigh. It didn't really matter. This could have been any one of a hundred waiting rooms he'd spent time in throughout his life

But seriously, this room… maybe he was just obsessing for lack of anything else to do, but he swore he could feel himself becoming distant, separate from his body. Completely disengaged as his body became a shell whose only purpose was to hold in all the pain and all the fear that could put a crack in the walls he had so carefully built.

Walls that allowed him to remain nonchalant in situations where anyone else would be asking for mercy. Walls that were essential to Dean Winchester and who he was.

The walls had cracked a few times over the years and each time he had filled the cracks quickly, not with very much care but never allowing them to get any bigger and at the time that was all that had mattered. It was at times like this when he regretted those repairs. They were only quick fixes, destined to crumble away eventually. That's why he became like the white walls, separated and reflecting or rather deflecting of fear and horror and sorrow, forcing it away. He could not allow an act of desperation to destroy what had taken years to build. He had to remain cool, calm, unruffled. He could not allow fear to impair his judgment.

It was simply not an option.

..x0x..

The light sheets were icy compared to the hell he had been living in. Sam wasn't quite sure where he was. Actually he wasn't quite sure of much right now.

The heat had confused him, left him drowsy beyond the point of thinking anything but the fact he couldn't think straight. He couldn't see straight either. It was all blurry and when it was clear he saw two of everything. So really, it wasn't exactly clear…

It was strange actually. He almost felt separate from his body. Like the normal aches, both physical and emotional, had been pushed somewhere just out of reach. Was it this disconnectedness that made his vision and his thoughts distorted? He vaguely felt a pain in his head and a tightness in his chest - but he had to reach out for that awareness and even then he was barely able to be sure it was real. Dreams and reality were swirling into one in a mystifying haze so confusing that he could no longer tell the difference.

All he could do was lie there, not even able to call upon the strength to lift his arm or wiggle his toes. It was sort of a relief to let everything go. To forget the memories that he wished he didn't have. To not feel the pain that was always there. For once he could just be someone else, someone with no worries, no fears, no pain, no thoughts.

And with that his was drifting away into the darkness and falling again.

..x0x..

Dean began to bore of sitting in the waiting room. It was unsettling, watching all the people like him sitting there alone, waiting, worrying. And the abnormal amount of caffeine he had consumed in the past hour and a half made him feel jittery. That and the kid who was sitting beside his current seat and staring at him. The small child had red, puffy eyes and was in desperate need of a tissue but Dean tolerated it - mostly because by the look of the boy's dad, the kid's face was going to be looking like that for a long time.

Just as he was contemplating shooting himself for no other reason than because the red blood would have messed up the freaky white at least for a little while, the doctor emerged through the doors saving him from his silent hell.

Standing abruptly Dean met the mans eyes and immediately reconsidered his thought about being saved from hell because this doctor had that look. The look he never wanted to see, especially when it concerned his little brother. This look said things like, there is a serious problem here and you're not going to like this news. This look said all the things that triggered fear in the most basic recesses of Dean's soul. This look had the power to put cracks in his walls.

"Mr…" the doctor hesitated and looked down briefly at the chart he carried.

"Just Dean – is my brother okay?"

And there it was, a blink and a slight aversion of the eyes and then that look again. "Dean… maybe you should sit down…"

And that was all it took for Deans walls to begin to crack and crumble once more.

..x0x..

**A/N: **Alright, the next update will hopefully be soon. At least I hope it will because I always feel bad when I don't update. Ok, let me know what you think…please review!


	6. Chapter 6

-1**Chapter 6**

**A/N: **Hey ) Another update!!! Sorry it took so long. Grade 10 is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Ok well, don't forget to review.

**Disclaimer:** No…I don't own them. Sigh I'm angry at whoever invented disclaimers…they just depress me.

..x0x..

The doctor sat down beside Dean and tried to settle himself into it. Dean felt an odd sense of satisfaction that the doctor felt the chairs were just as uncomfortable as he's found them. And then he stopped himself in the middle of his gloating, remembering that every second he sat revelling in his sense of self-satisfaction was another moment that Sam could be dying. He straightened himself at that thought and waited for the doctor to begin.

"My name is Dr. Seater, I'm Sam's attending physician."

Dean nodded and reached out and shook the doctor's outstretched hand, impatient for the doctor to begin.

"Dean, I'm afraid that your brother isn't in good condition…" Dean felt his stomach drop right through the floor.

"But he's okay right? I mean he's not going to die or anything is he?"

The doctor gave him a slightly sympathetic look, "Unfortunately I can't give you an answer to that question, Dean but maybe you can answer my questions? Any information you give us can be essential in Sam's case."

Dean nodded helplessly, "If it helps."

Dr. Seater glanced down at his charts, _Sam's_ charts and looked back up to face Dean with steady brown eyes and a level gaze.

"Is there any hereditary diseases in your family?"

Dean shook his head, "Not that I know of."… unless people they loved getting hurt by a maniacal demon counted as a hereditary disease.

"Does Sam have a history of drug or alcohol abuse?"

"_Sam?" _Dean asked incredulously, nearly choking over his tongue.

"Please Dean, just answer the question."

"No."

"What about depression? Has Sam ever suffered from that?"

Dean hesitated slightly. What happened after Jess's death wasn't really depression was it? "No he hasn't. Not that I know of anyway."

"Are you sure?" Dr. Seater pressed, "Has anything happened recently in Sam's life? Something that could affect his attitude about everything?"

"Why do you say that?" Dean was on the defensive; Dr. Seater seemed to be implying something.

"We found burn marks, around Sam's forearms. They're pretty bad."

"Are you telling me that you think Sam did that to himself?"

"Well that's what we're trying to find out. Is there any…--"

"That's impossible!" Dean interrupted, fury building inside of him. "Sam's my brother and I know him better than anyone. I know he would never do anything like that to himself." What scared Dean the most was that he'd said that to assure himself more than the doctor.

How well did he really know Sam? He'd had been gone for almost two years and an awful lot could change in that time. Not to mention that when they'd first set back out on the road, Sam had been in his little shell;, scared or maybe unable to show any emotions because of his overwhelming grief. Of course, Dean had been so happy to have his brother back that he hadn't really tried to get to know the new Sam.

"Dean please calm down," Dr. Seater's voice was so painfully calm and emotionless that it made Dean want to hit him. "I need to know, has anything happened to Sam?"

"His girlfriend, Jess, she died in a fire not too long ago. Sam was in the room and… well I pulled Sam out but I was too late for Jess. I don't know much, we don't talk about it but I know he loved her more than anything." Saying that out loud had somehow changed Dean's whole perspective on Jess. He'd never really understood how much Sam's loss must have affected his little brother; how much Sam had truly loved her. Suddenly everything was different.

"I see." The doctor nodded his head with understanding, but it only served to irritate Dean more. "I'm guessing that would explain the burns."

Dean opened his mouth to say something; to tell the doctor that the fire hadn't be _that _recent but something stopped him. There was something wrong here, something that Sam had not told him and bringing the doctor to believe that Sam was suicidal---which he was _not_, at least Dean hoped--that would mean he would never get a chance alone with Sam once he was awake. All in all he figured it was a good idea to keep his mouth shut.

"What about your family?" The doctor's voice pulled Dean out of his thoughts, "How were you guys raised?"

"Excuse me, what?"

"I sai…"

"Yeah, I heard you. What does this have to do with Sam being sick?" Dr. Seater had triggered a defence mechanism that had been buried deep within him. He had learnt that talking about his family only led to more questions. Questions that he wanted to avoid almost as much as the painful memories that talking about his family brought up.

"Just trying to get a read on Sam's mental state. It could affect his recovery."

"Yeah, well his mind is fine." Dean's irritation rose to irrational anger, "It's his body that needs the help." He had stood up in an almost uncontrollable fury right now, all his pent up emotions desperate to find a way to escape.

"Dean, please calm down. I jus…"

"Don't you tell me to calm down! My brother could be dying and you don't even know what's wrong with him." He was close to tears. Whether they were tears of anger, worry, or exhaustion he didn't know. He had cried too little in his life to recognize which one.

"Dean, I…"

"No," Dean cut him off again, "You should be in there **helping** him instead of sitting here asking me all these questions like some fucking shrink or something."

The doctor rose to his feet to look at Dean coldly, "I know your worried Dean but there are other people in here and I'm sure they can do without your disruptions." Dean suddenly became very aware of all the eyes in the waiting room staring at him, "I think it would be better for everyone if you left for some sleep and came back in a couple of hours when you're feeling better."

Dean shook his head. "There's no way I'm leaving Sam alone."

The doctor sighed and beckoned to a couple of orderlies, "If someone could please escort him out."

"Forget it," Dean said angrily, "I can escort myself out. But when I come back I want to know what's wrong with Sam."

Dr. Seater nodded slightly, "We'll do everything we can."

"Whatever." Dean scooped up his jacket from his fallen chair and left the building; fuming and muttering angrily under his breath.

..x0x..

Dean was standing in the rain just outside of the hospital, barely feeling the raindrops as they soaked his hair and ran down his back; drenching his shirt and jacket. He had made a huge mistake leaving. What if Sam woke up? What if something went wrong and he wasn't there? He felt so helpless. Sam could be dying and there was nothing he could do. Those were the only thoughts that made it thorough his mess of emotions. Playing over and over again like a broken record.

He sat down on a bench, paying no attention to the rain, lost in his state of helplessness. He jumped when a girl came out of the hospital and sat on the other side of the bench. Her dark hair was already soaked and plastered to her head while her eyes were slightly puffy, indicating that she had been crying. Dean idly wondered what had happened to make her so upset.

She didn't seem to notice that he was there so Dean watched her curiously as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and, putting one in her mouth, tried to light it. As soon as it was lit though, the rain put it out and either she didn't notice or she just didn't care. Dean watched as she 'smoked' the unlit cigarette. He finally decided to say something, but he wasn't sure what. He struggled for a second; his thinking slower than usual because of his almost overwhelming exhaustion. In the end all he could come up with was:

"It's raining."

She jumped slightly, looking over at him with bewildered eyes. After taking him in she calmed slightly and looked up into the cloudy sky, letting the water run down over he face.

"Yeah," she said sarcastically, "I can see that."

"No, what I meant was isn't it sort of hard to smoke a wet cigarette?"

"Oh this?" She looked at the cigarette rather regretfully and threw it away, "I quit anyway. It's just stress."

"Yeah, I know what you mean…" The silence between them was awkward; only the sound of the pattering rain and the occasionally clap of distant thunder provided any noise.

"So," the woman said, "What brings you here?"

Dean sat a moment longer in the painful silence, the memories welling up. "It's my brother he… he's sick."

"I didn't mean to the hospital. I meant what brought you here to the town."

"Oh." he muttered, slightly embarrassed.

"No it's okay. For me it's my boyfriend. He…he--" She seemed to develop a mental block, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "I'm sorry." she hastily wiped the tears away, "It's just saying it means it's real. I'm still hoping that it's all a dream."

"No, it's okay. Don't apologize. I'm Dean by the way." He extended his hand in a friendly gesture and she looked at him strangely.

"Dean… Dean…" she muttered under her breath, still holding his hand.

"Uh yeah?" he asked, slightly freaked.

"Dean? As in Sam? Dean and Sam Winchester?"

"How'd you know that?"

"My sister…she used to go to school with Sam," she said absently, finally giving him back his hand, "I can't believe it's you guys. So where's… Oh." It finally clicked in her head. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"No it's not." She was right. It wasn't okay. If okay were the North Pole he would be at the South Pole;that's how not okay it was. It felt like it would never be okay again.

..x0x..

The world was foggy and everything was unclear. He wasn't even sure where he was, apart from the fact that he wasn't burning anymore. Right now it was more like immersed in dark water. Silent and cold and safe. For once he felt safe and secure, like nothing could touch him.

He could hear the machine as it beeped along with his heart. The steady pace that could have drove him crazy. The beat that held his life in its rhythm.

Where was Dean? He opened his eyes and tried to focus but there was two of everything. Two windows, four legs, four hands. But no Dean. No Dean.

There was never any Dean when he needed him the most. Sometimes he despised his brother for coming that night and taking him away, but he immediately regrets the thought when he thinks of life without Dean. There was no life without Dean. There was Jess… and then him, on the ceiling. Him and Jess burning on the ceiling. Together forever.

He was thirsty. His throat burning. On fire. Like Jess. He tried to sit up to look for a glass of water but a searing pain shot through his back and he fell down, sweating from the simple effort. Sweating for trying to put out the fire.

He heard quiet foot steps. He hoped it wasn't the demon. He was weak. He was disoriented. He hoped it wasn't the demon.

It was a nurse. Young, smart, perfect. Like Jess but without the ceiling. Without the fire.

She walked over and he stared up at her, both of her, wavering in his vision. She looked down and smiled when she saw that he was awake. Her smile was so motherly that it confused him. She couldn't be much older than him. No older than Dean.

Where was Dean?

The brother he didn't really want back.

The family that he had never wanted to be a part of.

The mother he had never known.

The father he had never seen.

Why hadn't he missed them?

How could he have been brought back into this world of lies?

Why couldn't he admit defeat and just wither into the fire?

Too many questions. Questions with answers he could never comprehend. Feelings he could never understand. Actions he would always regret.

Where was Dean?

He tried once again to sit up but he groaned in pain as his muscles drove him back down. The nurse turned around and walked over when she saw him struggling to get up. She pushed on his shoulder to keep him down but he kept struggling.

"You have to stop struggling against it… uh…" she looked down at her charts, "Sam. It'll get better. If you want something I can get it for you."

It wasn't as hard to form the words as he'd first thought, "Dean. My brother?"

She smiled. "I'll go see if I can find him."

..x0x..

**A/N:** Okay…I know it took forever and I'm not going to hand out excuses (but I have a good one if anyone needs one). Just be happy with this because I know I am. The next chapter should be out really soon!


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